


Red Meat and Minivans

by Fatebegins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Mpreg, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by tumblr user fitzcharmingward: Everyone knows Stiles is pregnant before he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Meat and Minivans

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that this work takes place in a fictional alpha/beta/ omega univers, and all the inequalities that apply.

Stiles stretches under the toasty covers, eyes still firmly closed. He can tell by the orange light against his lids that it’s late enough that he’s in danger of missing Omega Lit but he can’t find the will to leave the bed and a warm, snugly Derek. It’s not often that the Were gets this affectionate. Not to say that Derek isn’t loving or anything. Stiles likes to think that after four years together, he’s worn his sour patch down to where he’s just that gummy sweetness.

 

 

It’s rare to have Derek plastered to his back, arms around him like tentacles and stubbled jaw rubbing against his own, morning breath and all. It’s nice, in a non-sexual intimate kind of way and Stiles wants to bottle up this morning and save it for later when he inevitably pisses his boyfriend off. In fact, he knows that once Derek sees the gigantic scratch he accidentally caused on his prized camero, the snuggly moments will be few and far in between for a while.

 

“Mornin’.” Derek whispers gruffly against his neck and Stiles smiles, opening his eyes to find Derek looking down at him. “You’re going to be late.”

 

“But I’m a senior.” Stiles yawns. “The whole point of being a senior is not to go to class.”

 

“I don’t think your Dad would agree.”

 

“It’s not my fault I’m tired.” Stiles sits up, gesturing to the multiple hickeys on his pale skin. “You were the one who wanted to have sex a bajilion times last night! How the hell am I supposed to show up to a Omega Lit class looking like a 15th century throwback? People are going to think I have no restraint! That I‘m not a modern omega.”

 

“They’re going to think that your _alpha_ has no restraint.”

 

“At least you spared my neck this time.” Stiles gets out of bed, dodging Derek’s arms to look at himself in the mirror. “And weirdly enough, focused on my stomach. I’m starting to think you have a kink, Mr. Hale.”

 

“Yeah…sorry.” Derek’s cheeks go ruddy and Stiles wishes he had a camera to document this.

 

Alpha Hale, _blushing_ in his bed, over stupid hickeys? The world has gone mad.

 

“Your adorable face is not helping my will to go get an education.”

 

“I’m not adorable.”

 

Derek snags his hand as he walks by the bed, pulling him down against him. Stiles shivers the moment they’re chest to chest, his body tingling in awareness. He loves everything about Derek, especially how muscle-y he is, and how broad his shoulders are. Stiles loves to test that strength, to push him to the limits where his iron control snaps and he just fucks him against the wall or desk or any inappropriate flat surface. Hell, the best times are when Derek just holds him up, slams him down on his cock and makes him take every inch.

 

“Stay.” Derek coaxes, brushing his lips against Stiles. He tastes ridiculously sweet and addictive. And Stiles is weak. “You’re beyond late anyway.”

 

“But…but.” Stiles’ brain turns to mush, and he’ll frown about that later: how easily he loses focus now- a- days when Derek is near. For now, however, he feels a surge of heat low in his abdomen, cock hardening when Derek slips his tongue into his mouth. “It’s just one class, right?”

 

It’s the third Stiles has missed this month.

 

“Just one class.” Derek agrees easily, his hands cupping Stiles’ ass and squeezing.

 

“Fine.” And it’s embarrassing how breathy his voice is. “But you better plan on supporting your uneducated boyfriend for the rest of his life.”

 

“Of course.” Derek seems to miss the joke entirely. His expression is too serious, and his hands have moved to Stiles’ stomach. They stay there and don’t move south no matter how much Stiles wriggles and encourages. “You’re my mate and I will look after for the rest of my life.”

 

There’s something there in his words, something that Stiles can’t put his finger on but he’s too horny too sleuth now. He’ll figure it out later.

 

-

 

“I’m sorry, why are you here again?”

 

“I brought breakfast.” Scott replies brightly. Proud, he holds up a paper bag. “We’ve got waffles, we’ve got scrambled eggs and bacon, we’ve got--”

 

“We’ve got issues.” Stiles finishes but lets his best friend in anyway. “Dude, why are you here? Again?”

 

“I brought you breakfast--”

 

“Scott, you live two hours away and this is like the fifth time you’ve shown up unannounced; are you insane?!”

 

Scott lifts his chin defiantly. “I want to make sure you’re eating enough.”

 

“You’re a lunatic.”

 

“What’s the racket?” Derek comes in holding a dark brown fur throw that Stiles has never seen before. He cuts the tag off. That explains it. “Hello, Scott.”

 

“Derek.” Scott says back. The pair are two idiots, still wary of one another but the thaw is coming. Stiles just knows it will happen in another decade. “I brought Stiles some food.”

 

Stiles waits for the inevitable anger but it never comes, instead Derek looks…pleased?

 

“Good.” Derek smiles. “That’s good.”

 

“Prime rib, too.”

 

Stiles’ nose wrinkles at the decidedly more bloody bag Scott was hiding behind his back “No!”

 

“I’ll grill tonight.” Derek ignores his disgust and instead slips the heavy fur over his shoulders. “Here, stay warm.”

 

“What?” Stiles sputters, trying in vain to get out from under the heavy thing. “Is this actual fur? Derek, fur is murder! Have you not see--”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“What?! No, _not fine_. You‘re insane if you think I‘ll keep this on.”

 

“It’s not real fur.”

 

“It isn’t?” Scott sounds chastising and Stiles has no idea what alternate universe he is currently living in.

 

“Eat.” Derek reminds, pushing the giant breakfast platter to him.

 

Stiles looks from the copious amounts of food to Scott’s earnest face and back to Derek’s stern one. He picks up his fork and starts in on the food, surprised to find that his hunger hasn’t abated even while he’s creeped out.

 

Halfway through his sausage link, Derek nuzzles his neck and purrs.

 

Fucking purrs in contentment, like he gets off on Stiles stuffing his face.

 

Stiles is going to need to see Deaton on this one.

 

-

 

Deaton is no help.

 

In fact, he seems to have drank from the same crazy juice. Once he sees Stiles he keeps smiling, and Deaton is never this fucking happy. He looks like a Disney fairy godfather, fluttering around and asking him if he’s comfortable.

 

“You should take these.” Deaton shoves a bottle of pills into Stiles’ hand as he‘s leaving. “You need all the nutrients you can get. They’ll help.”

 

“Help with what?”

 

“Nothing.” The expression on the Doctor’s face is guilty. “Everyone needs vitamins!”

 

Stiles leaves before he gives in to the temptation to punch him in the face.

 

-

 

When Stiles gets back to the apartment, Derek is waiting in the parking lot.

 

Next to his _Camero_.

 

Next to the deep _scratch_ left by Stiles’ attempt to navigate the drive thru with one hand on the wheel and the other in a plate of nachos grande, extra gauc, extra cheese and beans.

 

“Don’t kill me.” Stiles tries his best sad face, trying to diffuse the tension he can see running over Derek. “I can explain.”

 

“This car isn’t safe.”

 

“I don’t know why I needed to eat the nachos so quickly, I just--” Stiles breaks off as Derek’s words catch up to him. “Wait, what?”

 

“I’m going to sell the camero, get a better, more suitable car.”

 

“You’re going to sell your baby?!” Stiles is incredulous. “But why?”

 

“I need a car that will keep you safe, protect you. This isn’t it.”

 

“Derek, I think you’re over reacting, or well, _not reacting_. I scratched your car; I did so while _eating_ in it--which you always said was an offense punishibale by death.”

 

“I would never hurt you.”

 

Stiles feels like one of those wacky, inflatable tube arm things. He’s just flapping around. “What the hell is going on?”

 

“Nothing.” Derek pulls him into a half hug as he continues to survey the scratch. Stiles thinks he must be in shock. “We’ll head to the dealership tomorrow. Maybe get a nice minivan.”

 

And Stiles feels honest to God light headed. “What the hell is going on?!”

 

-

 

The house is big, bigger than the old Hale house.

 

It’s situated on top of a gently sloping hill, and the bright red of the brick shows that it’s new.   It’s nice; wrap around porch and manicured lawn complete with what looks to be a children’s play house. The development is one of the newer ones in Beacon Hills. Upscale.

 

Derek parks the jeep outside of the house. The camero has been sold and the ancient jeep is their only mode of transportation now. Stiles had refused the Chrysler Town and Country Derek proudly picked out.

 

“Who lives here?”

 

“Uh, we do.” Derek dangles keys in front of his face. “If you want.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“I put an offer on it, and it was accepted last week. I closed today.”

 

“What happened to living in New York?”

 

“I know you want to live close to your father, and I just figured now that you‘re…”

 

“Now that I’m what?”

 

“Now that you’re graduating, I’m seeing things your way. We should move back home, be with our friends and family. Have a support system.”

 

Stiles is silent for a long time, just looking at the house that is exactly fourteen minutes away from his father’s and Melissa‘s. Bottom line, it’s an amazing thing to do. If Stiles had designed the perfect house and perfect situation, it would match up neatly to his reality but it doesn’t make any damned sense. Derek has always hated the quiet of Beacon Hills, and now he’s suddenly gung ho to putting down roots?

 

Hell, everyone is being so fucking accommodating towards him that it’s scary. His father had eaten the steamed vegetables Stiles made him without complaint and with decided gusto. Isaac has bought him several samples from the designer he works for, worth thousands. Lydia has dragged him to about six spa days and even Jackson, mean old, grumpy man Jackson had somehow ended up giving him a back rub on Saturday!

 

Stiles knows there’s something he’s missing, thinks frantically for a second if maybe he’s dying and they’re all being extra nice to him as his last wish or something.

 

“Well? Do you like it?”

 

There are two things he can do right now: make a scene and demand the truth or just go with it.

 

He chooses the latter.

 

“I love it.”

 

-

 

They christen the house that night, with no furniture but a mattress they hastily bought at _Sleepys_ from an over eager salesmen.

 

“Come on, Derek, harder.” Stiles reaches behind him, grabs Derek’s ass to yank him deeper inside. “ _Harder_ , fuck.”

 

They’re sprawled out on the mattress, candles lit around them providing weak light. Stiles is on his side, Derek pressed up behind him, Stiles’ leg pulled up to allow Derek to thrust his cock all the way into him before pulling halfway out with a slow rotation of his hips and then driving back in slow.

 

It’s achingly sweet enough to leave Stiles breathless but leaves him desperate enough that his body is misted in sweat and lashes wet with unshed tears. Derek’s pace is steady, nowhere near the frantic and hard pounding they usually indulged in.

 

“Fucking, fuck me already!” Stiles demands. He’s impatient and wants to come, has been on the edge for what seems like hours. The rhythm picks up, and Derek buries his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck murmuring words of love and praise.

 

When Derek’s rhythm falters, Stiles catches his breath, ready to be fucked within an inch of his life, preferably on his hands and knees. But instead, Derek’s hands move from where they’ve been on his stomach, down to his hard dick to pull in short, tight squeezes.

 

Stiles come so hard he swears he passes out.

 

-

 

“Okay, this steak is not even rare Derek, it’s raw.”

 

“So?”

 

“I like it medium well!”

 

“But there’s more nutrients--”

 

“Derek, so help me God--”

 

The doorbell rings and Derek gets to his feet hurriedly to answer it.

 

It’s Erica and Boyd. Stiles hasn’t seen them in about a month in a half, not since their engagement party. He’d left early, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting at the party meant for two other people.

 

It’s been awhile, so at first Stiles is happy to see them. That changes quickly.

 

“We’re here to install a new alarm system!” Erica hugs him tight. A long lingering hug that turns awkward when she doesn’t let go. Stiles stiffens when he realizes she’s sniffing him.

 

“Um, Erica?”

 

“Sorry.” She looks embarrassed. “But you smell nice.”

 

“Old Spice body spray.” Stiles replies glibly. “Smell like a man.”

 

Boyd chuckles. “You look good, Stiles, healthy.”

 

Next to him Derek preens, chest puffing out a bit and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Uhm, yes, thank you. I have been eating a lot of beef lately. A lot.”

 

“Good.” Boyd nods, like a psycho mastermind. “Good.”

 

“We also brought you something to eat.” Erica at least has the grace to look sheepish. “It’s uh, steaks.”

 

Stiles groans. “Thanks but no thanks.”

 

“Stiles, you need--”

 

“I need to eat something that is not dripping blood.” Stiles finishes. He’s had enough for one day. “I’m going to bed.”

 

-

 

Stiles had meant to pout a bit but he actually falls asleep once he lies down. He wakes hours later. He can hear voices filtering in from downstairs. Erica and Boyd have apparently stayed after turning their house into Fort Knox.

 

Boyd is speaking.

 

“So why doesn’t Stiles know again?”

 

Derek replies. “The specialist says it’s best to keep him in the dark until he passes the critical stage, He thinks the stress would be too much.”

 

Stiles heart begins to beat rapidly. Oh God, he’s actually dying. He hadn’t--

 

“It’s a huge deal!” Erica is saying. “There hasn’t been a live male birth in fifty years.”

 

“I know.” Derek sounds worried, far from his oddly cheery tone of late. “I’m scared out of my fucking mind.”

 

_Live male birth ._

Stiles goes absolutely still.

 

He’s not dying--he’s pregnant.

 

-

 

“Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

 

Stiles hops up from the bed, finger pointed in accusation. “Lucy, you’ve got some explaining to do!”

 

Derek grimaces. “Were you eavesdropping?”

 

“Why should I have to overhear that I’m harboring a _werewolf_ inside of me?” The shock has worn off leaving mostly hysteria. And some wonder. But the majority is hysteria. “My boyfriend has been lying to me for weeks--”

 

“Months.”

 

“Wow! Proud of yourself, are you?”

 

“I didn’t want to--”

 

“No, instead you tried to stuff me full of rare meat and buy a minivan!”

 

Derek looks pained. “I know you’re pissed, Stiles, but I--”

 

“No. You don't know! This goes beyond me being pissed, Derek, you _lied_ to me. I trusted you to be honest with me and you just fucking lied.” The final realization dawns. “And everyone was in on it. They all knew and you didn’t even bother to tell me!”

 

When Derek reaches for him, Stiles slaps his hands away.

 

It’s something he’s done numerous times before in an argument but this time is different. Derek looks crushed at the rejection, waves of hurt and pain emanating off of him. Stiles can see the emotions so clearly, and it’s something he’s never been able to before.

 

“All I can say is: I’m sorry.” Derek’s eyes are fixed to the ground. “I listened to the doctor because I was scared. A male omega birth is rare…and dangerous. I did what I thought was necessary to keep you and our cub safe. “

 

The anger drains out of him because Derek looks so damned pathetic.

 

“Derek.”

 

“I was wrong; I know that but…If anything happened to you, Stiles. If anything _hurt_ you…I’d go insane. You… _you’re my life_. You’re all I have after Cora and I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t.”

 

“You make it so hard to be mad at you.” Stiles gently puts a hand under Derek’s chin, lifts his face up. He can see the multitude of emotions flitting across his face. But what catches him the most are Derek’s eyes: red rimmed and green, so beautiful close to tears. Tears for him. And their cub. Fuck, there’s another person inside of him. “Derek, we’re going to be _parents_.”

 

“I know.” Derek draws him close, inhales deeply. “I’m fucking scared.”

 

“Don’t be.” Stiles holds him. “We’re going to be fine; both of us will be…and we‘re going to get a minivan.”

 

Derek laughs, and it makes Stiles grin because as angry as he was for being kept in the dark, he gets the feeling Derek had been suffering bearing the worry on his own while Stiles merrily gained weight and blamed it on beef and being spoiled by everyone around him.

 

“You keep something like that from me again and I’ll cut your balls off.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“And one more thing.”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Fire up the grill, I’m in the mood for steak.”

 

 

 


End file.
